by Patricia Fry
Savannah glanced at the clock. Four fifty-five. “Yes, we’d better eat. I’m starving,” she lied.
****
The diners were finishing their meal just before five thirty when they heard a rap at the kitchen door. Savannah opened it, “Craig, hi. Come in.”
He looked her over and said, “I don’t see anything different. You spent all that money to look the same?”
“Oh, don’t tell her that,” Michael said, approaching their guest. “Can’t you see the difference? She has painted nails.”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, I see that now. Yeah, that’s gotta be worth the three hundred dollars you probably spent today.” Craig motioned to the man who had stepped inside behind him. “Savannah and Michael Ivey, this is…”
“Hi,” Savannah said, quickly reaching out and shaking the stranger’s hand. “Welcome.”
“Please come in,” Michael invited. He nodded toward Gladys. “This is Savannah’s mother, Gladys, and our friend, Gail Allen.”
Gail, who sat with her back to the door, turned slightly and acknowledged Craig. She caught just a glimpse of the other man. When Craig moved around to the opposite side of the table, he reached for her hand. “Well, Ms. Allen,” Craig said, “I didn’t recognize you. You look…wow!”
Gail blushed. “Thank you. It was a lot of fun.”
Then she heard the other man’s voice behind her. “Hello, Gail.”
She looked across the table at Gladys, then at Craig, and turned slowly in her seat. She gasped. “It can’t be,” she said breathlessly. She stood up so quickly that the chair began to topple. The man grabbed it before it fell and pulled it away from behind her. “Ronnie!” she said almost inaudibly. When he nodded, she grabbed him around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and they held each other for several emotional moments.
When she pulled back, she looked at him and asked, “How? Oh my God, Ronnie, where have you been? What happened?”
“I’ll explain it all to you later,” he said, holding tightly to her hands. He stared into her face for a few moments and took a deep breath. “Hey, I’m sure these good folks don’t want to put up with a couple of blubbering old fools all evening.” When he saw Savannah and Gladys wiping tears from their eyes, he chuckled. “It’s contagious, is it?”
Gail fell into Ronnie’s arms again, then pulled back and stared into his face. “Yes, let’s go someplace where we can talk. I really need to know what kept you away from me.”
“It was you,” he said.
“What? Ronnie, I wanted to be with you. I’ve waited for you every single day for the
last forty years.”
“Forty-four years, eleven months, twenty-two days and,” he looked at his watch, “eight hours.”
Everyone chuckled quietly.
He took her hands in his again and choked up when he said, “He threatened to make your life miserable if I came anywhere near you. What was I to do? They’d already done a number on me—I lost the use of some of my fingers because of them. I couldn’t stand the thought of them harming you. I had to go.” He pulled her to him and said, his voice husky, “I had no choice.”
“Who, Ronnie? Who was it?” Gail insisted.
“Your family, honey. They were so adamantly against us being together that they plotted to kill me. Thankfully, Tyrone got cold feet, but he said…” Ronnie’s voice cracked, “he said that if I even tried to contact you, he’d hurt you. Gail, honey, I feared for your life.”
“What life?” she asked, holding one of his hands against her cheek. “It was a non-life without you.”
He choked back tears and looked around at the others. “Would you excuse us, please? We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yes, by all means, you two go on your way,” Savannah said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Do you have a car?” Ronnie asked.
Gail nodded. “Yes, I just bought one.”
“Do you still live in your family home?”
“Yes.” She started to walk away with Ronnie when she stopped. She looked across the room at Craig, then walked up and hugged him. “Thank you so much,” she murmured. She took Savannah’s hands in hers. “And you. You are definitely my savior…my angel from heaven.” She wiped more tears from her face and said, her voice sounding pinched, “That spa day was certainly a waste of money; my makeup’s all washing off.”
Everyone laughed.
Gail latched onto Ronnie’s arm. “Shall we?” The couple started to walk toward the door, when Gail shouted. “Wait!” She faced the others. “Would someone pinch me? I want to be darn sure I’m not dreaming again.”
Ronnie pulled her toward him and said, “Let’s see if this will convince you.” He bent slightly and kissed her tenderly.
She swooned. “Oh, this is just…well, unbelievable.” She grabbed Ronnie’s arm again and led him toward the door. “Come on,” she urged. “We have a whole lot of time to make up for.”
He opened the door, then the couple abruptly stopped.
“What is it?” Savannah asked, joining them. She followed their eyes and there she saw him sitting on the porch. “Rags!” she shouted. “What are you doing out here? Where have you been?”
“What does he have there?” Ronnie asked, chuckling. “Looks like…”
“Oh my gosh!” Gail yelped, making a dive for the cat. However, he out maneuvered her and trotted into the kitchen dragging a lacy black bra between his legs. “My new lingerie!” Gail complained.
Savannah caught up to the cat, took the bra from him, and brushed the dust from it. “I forgot to warn you about leaving your window down around here.” She glared at Rags. “But I didn’t think he’d ransack your car. I’m so sorry.” She turned to Rags and demanded, “How did you get out there?”
Gail squinted at Savannah suspiciously. “Oooh, you sneaky girl,” she said. She looked at Ronnie, then at the bra Savannah held. “You bought that for me because…” She put her hand up to her mouth, “How embarrassing.”
Ronnie reached out and took the bra from Savannah. He winked at her. “Thanks!” He ran his hand over Rags’s fur. “I’ll bet you’re quite an interesting fellow.”
“You have no idea,” Gail said, as Ronnie ushered her out the door.
Patricia Fry and Her Books
From Patricia Fry
I’m delighted that you’ve stopped by to learn more about the behind the scenes activities here at the Klepto Cat Mystery factory. Welcome fans and future fans of Rags, the clever klepto cat and his feline, equine, canine, and human friends. I’ve been writing for publication since 1973 when I submitted my first article to Horse and Horseman Magazine. Motivated by their exuberant acceptance and a passion for writing, I was able to create a freelance writing business that I pursued for the following forty years. In 1978, I wrote my first book and it was published by the first publisher I contacted, A.S. Barnes. Five years later, I established my own publishing company, Matilija Press, and began producing additional books on a variety of subjects—all nonfiction. Keep in mind that my tools would be considered primitive by today’s standards. I started my career using a manual typewriter and a lot of white-out. (For those of you under fifty, that’s how we used to correct our mistakes on a typewritten page—by painting them out and typing over them.) There was no Internet then, so I mailed my submissions and received the yay or nay by snail mail, as well. Everything moved slower in those days. For example, it took me five years to research and write my 300-page book, The Ojai Valley, An Illustrated History. (And I’d graduated to an electric typewriter by then.) Now, I’m producing six books per year. When the computer became commonplace in our homes, everyone who ever wanted to write began writing—their memoirs, their grievances, poetry, novels, how-to books… And many of them came to me for advice. Long-story short, I started presenting workshops on the business of writing—publishing and promotion. And I wrote numerous books on these topics. For years, I traveled throughout the United States and beyond speaking at writ
ers conferences. And I began consulting with hopeful authors and established an editing business to go along with my writing work. In 2012, I attended a class reunion and realized that I was the only one from my class who wasn’t retired. I had to ask myself, “Self, why aren’t you retired?” The answer came quickly. “Because I love what I’m doing.” As part of my routine, I would stop every few years and evaluate my career, asking myself, among other things, “Are you still having fun?” And I always responded, “Yes!” Certainly, I’d make a few adjustments in my business. I might decide I’d rather do more consulting or more speaking engagements, for example. However, when I did my evaluation in 2012, my answer had changed. I knew that I wanted to continue writing, but I was feeling a little burned out with the world of nonfiction. That’s when I decided to do something I’d never done before. Patricia Fry, the dedicated nonfiction—no-nonsense—writer and speaker was going to write a novel—a cozy mystery. And the Klepto Cat Mystery series was created. By the time you read this, in May-June of 2017, Book 23, Cattywampus Travels will be published. This brings my total of published books to 65—and counting!! Now, when I ask, “Self, are you having fun?” I respond with a loud and clear “Absolutely!” I’m having the time of my life. And I hope my joy comes through in my stories and you are having fun, too.
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